


Fuck Me. A Strike Back Love Story

by MyOwen



Category: Strike Back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 12:06:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5707465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOwen/pseuds/MyOwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stonebridge meets Conrad Knox’ daughter, and in the midst of all the blood and gore and nightmares, she manages to make him crack a smile. Stonebridge and Scott’s bromance is a wonderful thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, Archive of Our Own world. I dreamt of this entire story very vividly and it would not let me go until I promised to put it down on paper. I wrote it without a beta, I apologize for all the errors. This story doesn’t follow the Strike Back episode timeline, I would say it happens two years after Stonebridge loses his wife. My absolute favorite writer in Archive of our own, inspired a lot of the words, and I want to credit his/her with certain words that stuck to my brain, but I cannot remember his/her pen name. 
> 
> Written for fun, not for profit. Maybe written a little bit, in hopes of dreaming about Philip Winchester’s chest. Okay, written A LOT, in hopes of dreaming about Philip’s chest.

Chapter 1

 

“That’s Conrad Knox’ daughter?” Sgt. Damien Scott whistles. “She’s hot!” He places his dusty boots on top of the very expensive lighted computer table and proceeds to push his chair back until it balances precariously on two back legs. Mischievous eyes hone in on the big screen, and stares at the woman in question, his ludicrous grin plastered on his scruffy mug.

  
I shake my head and slap his feet off of the table, then continue to clean my AK47. Scott is a dog. A big, hairy, tail-wagging dog. But he’s proven his worth in the field so I try not to hurt him off of it. Much.

  
“Awe, Stonehenge. That fuckin’ hurt!” Scott belies this dramatic statement by laughing like a hyena on his next breath.

  
“Oh I’m sorry, Princess. Did I hurt your feelings?” I say with a straight face. We have a few rare hours of down time and the team takes a much-deserved rest in the Crib. Richmond sits in front of her computer, green lights reflecting on her dark eyes as she reads new intel. Baxter ‘s sprawled on another chair, hat covering his face while he snores away. Dalton and Sinclair are off God-knows-where. If I choose to believe Scott, which I unequivocally do not, they’re off snogging each other in the back of the curtained-off partition of the Crib. I shake my head again, trying not to visibly squirm with that mental image in my head.

  
“What?” Scott continues, his favorite topic not to be dropped. “She is hot. Look at all those curves. And that hair,” Scott touches the tip of his tongue to the side of his right lip, considering. “It just begs to be pulled.”

  
“Please stop talking, mate.” I say, without much hope of getting results. Scott is a dog. Did I mention that already?

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen,” Dalton barges in from behind the curtain, wiping her mouth with the back of her left hand. Wait, what is she wiping off? Could it be? Sinclair’s saliva?.... Fuck, now I'm thinking like Scott. “Downtime over,“ Dalton continues. “Ava Knox is in Johannesburg, Africa, and we will be there to talk to her about her father.”

  
“Me, me, me, me,” Scott wiggles up and down on his bum, right hand waving in the air. “I will talk to Ava’s Knockers, I mean Ava Knox,” he laughs at his own joke. Dalton turns and focuses laser-sharp eyes on Scott and talks to me without moving her head,

“Stonebridge, you’re up.”

  
I stand up, put my hands behind my back, “Yes ma’am.” I can tell Scott is annoyed, and that makes me like this mission even better.

  
“Ma’am, with all due respect,” Scott starts, his eyes filled with non-too many respect, “but don’t you think Stonewall over here is too much soldier for someone like her?” He gestures in my general area, “look at all that uncompromising stand. Look at his jaw. For fuck’s sake, look at his chest - it’s massive! I think she’ll be more receptive to someone with more charm and class.” He ends his plea with a self-congratulatory smirk down his body.

  
“Well,” Dalton considers, “since Sinclair is needed in the Crib, Stonebridge it is.” She turns back the way she came, “Dismissed.”

  
I can hear Richmond snicker behind me, and Baxter coughs, hoping to hide his laughter. Scott turns to both of them and glares daggers at his enemies.

 

 

Johannesburgh, Africa.

 

Scott is busy lecturing me about the finer art of what he calls “public charm speaking.” “None of that carrot-up-your-ass look, Mikey.” He points his finger at me. “I know it’s hard, but try to act like a regular person when you talk to her.”

  
I roll my eyes, and button my white shirt. I can be charming, I think to myself. Kerry thinks so. She has told me numerous times that I can be the next James Bond. That I should quit soldiering to be Bond, James Bond. Kerry. I swallow. My Kerry. I feel my heart thump, a burst of pain so great, that I actually feel it physically. I breathe in, imagine that starburst of pain enclosed in a steel box, that I put under my bed, not to be opened until I choose to. Scott notices. We’re spending way too much time together if he can tell the difference between my usual stoic bearing, from my heart-broken stoic bearing. I can see understanding and sadness in his eyes a quick second before he turns his head away, and to my eternal gratefulness, pretends he doesn’t see a thing.

  
“What did I just say?,” he barks. “You haven’t heard a thing I said.”

  
“Heard you loud and clear, mate,” I swallow. “No carrot, regular person. Roger that.”

  
“No, No, No,” he insists, walking towards my side of the hotel bed until he has crossed into my personal space. Again.

  
“What did _I_ say about personal space?,” I remind him.

  
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You Brits and your cheerful disposition,” he mutters while he unhooks two of my shirt buttons. “There. You don’t look like an unmoving asshole.” He grins, “Much.”

 

 

 

I march up the stairs to the second-floor of an incongruously modern home in the midst of all that desert sand. The windows span floor to ceiling and the cold, impersonal furniture are sparse and uncomfortable-looking. Well-dressed guests are milling about, talking, laughing, and surreptitiously looking at each other to gauge who is better-dressed, richer, funnier; in short, a typical cocktail hour for the rich and famous. I smoothly grab a drink from a passing waiter garbed in their uniform of black and white tuxedos. “Zero, Bravo One,” I mutter, pretending to wipe my lips. “I’m in,” I look around like I belong, and catch the eye of the only person not dressed like a sleek snake. In fact, instead of the tight and slithery outfit of choice, this older lady wears a flowery shift so similar to my grandmother’s couch fabric, that I find myself walking towards the direction of her gray head. “Roger that, Bravo One,” I hear Richmond’s well-modulated voice in my ear.

Blue eyes, clear and mischievous, look up, up, and up, to my own. “Hi laddie,” the eyes twinkle, “can you help an old lady get another one of these wonderfully fizzy drink?”

“Of course,” I smile, “But I don’t see any old lady ‘round here.”

 

Mrs. Heath and I have been animatedly discussing her grandsons when I hear Richmond in my ear, “Bravo One, Target approaching.” I look up and the first thing I'm aware of are wide green eyes in a small pixie face and high forehead, eyes that seem to be smiling at a private joke. White fitted dress, pink pillow lips. Long, curly red hair, “begging to be pulled,” I suddenly remember Scott saying. Jesus. Why does that twat’s words crop up now, I grumble in my head. I’m dimly aware of two hulking bodyguards behind her. Ava Knox gracefully unfurls her body from hugging Mrs. Heath, and turns to look at me. I stare. Like an idiot. It was an uncomfortable few seconds before I hear a giggle on my left, and a not-so-subtle dig of an elbow to my gut from my new friend, “Laddie, this is Ava,” the elbow says to me. “She’s founded the Knox Foundation and has invited all of us here to listen to her cause,” Mrs. Heath continues.

  
Smooth and Cool. Smooth and Cool. I’m smooth and cool, I remind myself. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Knox.” I extend my right hand and shake a small but surprisingly firm grip in my big, calloused hand.

  
“I’m sure the pleasure is mine, Mister….” She lets the question hang in the air.

  
“Ah. It’s Sto… er, um, Bryers. Michael. I mean, Michael Bryers,” I stutter.

“Mr. Bryers,” the smiling eyes sparkle up to me, then behind me, where two big men were getting ready to remove my hand, still gripping Ava’s... I mean, Miss Knox’ hand. She surreptitiously shakes her head at them, and smoothly extracts her hand from my hold.

  
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Bryers,” her eyes are unsure for the first time since I've met them.

  
“Michael, please.” I offer.

  
“Ah, Gawd!” I hear Scott’s voice in my ear, “Can you be any more awkward, buddy?” he snorts. “I knew Lady MacBeth chose the wrong soldier!”

  
“Well, Michael,” her eyes smile once again, “I’m going to talk a bit about my foundation,” she indicates a podium to the right with her pursed lips. I stare at those lips. “Hopefully you can stay and listen to why it’s an important part of African life.” She turns to Mrs. Heath, whispers conspiratorially, and walks to the elevated podium. I try not to stare at her retreating form, in her form-fitting white dress.

  
The same elbow digs into my ribs. “Beautiful, isn’t she?” Mrs. Heath smiles slyly at me.

  
I listen to Miss Knox’ speech. She is eloquent, funny, self-deprecating, and her plea to this rich crowd is heart-felt and sincere. I find myself wishing Major Dalton supplied me with a checkbook, together with this itchy suit and white shirt that she gave me.

  
I keep my eye on Miss Knox as she makes her way around the crowd. Smiling, touching the gentlemen’s arms, laughing with the women. A politician’s daughter, through and through. It will not surprise me in the least if she meets her quota for the month, even without the help of Dalton’s checkbook. She finally reaches where I stand, leaning against the doorway, nonchalantly sipping from a champagne glass, the dainty glass looking absurdly out of place in my big hands. Ah, what I would do for a cup of tea ‘round here. Here goes nothing –

  
“Mister Bryers…”

  
“Miss Knox….” We say at the same time. She ducks her head and laughs a little.

  
“You first,” she gallantly offers.

  
“Miss Knox,” my voice is low and intense. “You know my name, but what you don’t know is that I work for the British Military Intelligence. We have intel that your father, Conrad Knox, is in possession of nuclear triggers, and we need your help with finding out where he is.” There. Succinct, no flowery words, straight to the point.

  
“Ah Mikeeyyyy,” I hear Scott’s disappointment in my ear and see Ava’s eyes turn from confusion, to shock, to anger. In the corner of my periphery vision, I see her two bodyguards start to advance on me.

  
“How dare you utter vile words about a man you know nothing about,” she hisses, eyes flaming.

  
“I do know him and I know what atrociousness he’s capable of,” I say in a low voice. “Do your research and don’t be blinded by what your father has become.”

  
“He has done more for Africa and its people, than anyone. You need to go back to your “British Military Intelligence,” she quotes acidly, “and rethink your whole theory before I do it for you,” she finishes with venom. I eye the two gentlemen, and Ava notices even amidst her anger, and spats out, “Oh, don’t concern yourself with them,” she indicates the two angry men behind her, “They’re not the ones you need to worry about.” She turns, starts to leave, so I grab her upper arm and pull her towards me. I can see the anger in her eyes.

  
“Listen to me,” I can smell her sweet breath, going in and out, suppressed rage making it shaky. “Your father is a mad man.”

  
The punch to my face is unexpected and hurt like a mother. What the… Ava Knox punched me. Me! Sergeant Stonebrick, according to Scott. And I didn’t see it coming. I thought maybe a slap, an open palm. But a fuckin’ punch to my fuckin’ nose. I will never live this down.

  
“There. You know where to find me if you need another.” She finally turns around, and walks gracefully towards the stairs. I know her hand must be hurting like hell, if my throbbing nose is any indication, but she does a good job of pretending otherwise. Her behind moves sensually with every step, encased in their white casing. I stare, finally. And it’s as good as I imagined it would be. Her bodyguards smirk at me, and follow their badass charge. By now, the whole crowd has stopped and abandoned their pretense of not listening, and are openly gawking at me and my bloody nose. I look for Mrs. Heath and bow my head in shame as I see her disappointed face.

 

“Mikey, Mikey, Mikey,” Scott shakes his head with glee. We’re back in the Crib and the taste of failure is bitter in my mouth.

  
I hear Dalton rummaging around somewhere. “Paper Scissor, on who gets to tell Dalton?” I know, I’m a coward.

  
Scott puts his right fist flat on his left hand, and counts to three. “Scissors cut paper!” The bastard smiles. “Heeeeh Heeeh”.

Yep. I’m screwed.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I feel a boot on my leg, nudging me awake. “Stonelump, there’s a phone call for you,” Scott’s voice finally spears my consciousness. “It’s Ava Knox.” My eyes blink open and I squint against the green lights of the Crib’s computers. Ava Knox? I am suddenly very awake, and I stand so suddenly from my inflatable mattress that I feel dizzy for a moment. I try to walk nonchalantly towards the phones, but I have a feeling Scott and Baxter notice my chalant non-chalantness.

“Bryers here,” I answer the phone.

  
“Mister Bryers,” the voice on the other line hesitates, then surges forward, as if bracing for a push of brevity, “thank you for taking my call. I, um. I was wondering if we can meet somewhere to talk.” The last word was stronger, more sure.

 

 

 

The place Ava chooses is a beach near the incongruous modern home where she walloped me with her RRH – righteous right hook, as Scott loves to constantly remind me. She sits on top of some rock outcropping, hair tossed about by the wind. She’s wearing camouflage long shorts, and a matching long-sleeved shirt. Her face is devoid of make-up, and as she looks up at me, she seems so young and sad. My heart constricts at the obvious battle she’s fighting about the right and wrong of this war. This war that her father has started. Her feet are bare, and for some reason, they fascinate me. They look so small and vulnerable against the hard rocks that I have to consciously stop myself from picking them up and wrapping them in my shirt to prevent them from getting hurt against the sharp rocks.  
“No bodyguards?” I say as way of greeting. She smiles a tired smile.

“I sneaked out. We have half an hour before SpongeBob and Patrick discovers me missing.”

  
My lips quirk up unbidden. I scratch an imaginary itch on my left face with the fingers of my right hand, trying to cover up my smile. I wait for her to start the conversation. I didn’t have to wait long. It seems when she makes up her mind, she follows through, no matter how hard. My admiration for her grew. Again.

  
“I researched my father’s activities,” she swallows. “And there are questionable matters I cannot explain away. I also researched his new associates and Mr. Matlock and company do not seem to be who they say they are.” She looks away. Trees sway against the wind, the air smells sweet from the bromeliads planted strategically around the perimeter, the water looks cool and inviting. It’s beautiful. But her eyes are unfocused, as if she’s far, far, away from this exotically beautiful land. “I will help you. But I will not betray my father.” Laser eyes focus on mine. Unwavering and unapologetic. I nod. Her eyes are glistening, and I pretend not to notice that she’s trying hard not to appear weak by shedding tears for a father who is unworthy of her loyalty.

I fold my body and sit next to her. I’m facing the house, majestic and glimmering in the uncompromising sun. Ava is facing the water, beautiful and serene. My left shoulder is near her right, her hair whips my face. I can smell her shampoo. Clean and simple. “I grew up in this land,” she continues after a while. “I am waist-deep in its politics and red tape that surrounds everything and everyone who doesn’t have the proper clout. But I am also waist-deep in its people. My people. Their strength and intelligence and loyalty to a land that’s every bit as punishing as the sun bearing down on us. I will help. I need to help.” She turns her face towards mine, willing me to understand her reasons for loving her mad man of a father.

  
“I’m a soldier,” I say, simply. “I know how it is to be torn between duty and love.”

  
“Is that how you got the cuts on your face?” Her eyes roam my right cheek, red and swollen from our recent mission. I nod.

  
She lifts her hand, and tentatively traces the bruises on my cheek. I hold my breath and stay as still as I can. Afraid that if I breathe too deeply, she’ll realize her folly and stop her slow exploration. Her fingers are cool and light on my face. She finishes near my chin, then abruptly takes her hand away, as if burnt. She clears her throat. I miss her touch. Already. Shit, I’m in big trouble.

“I better go.” She says to the rocks on her feet. I hesitantly get up and offer her my hand. She looks up, seems to debate something in her mind, then bravely takes my hand. I pull her up. She stands. Too near. Our bodies, almost touching. She’s surprisingly small. Her personality and the way she carries herself makes her larger than she actually is. We turn at the same time, and start walking towards my car parked on the right side of the house.

  
She stops and offers her hand. “Thank you for meeting me, Sgt Bryers.” I hesitate, then take her hand with a cool handshake.

  
“It’s Stonebridge.” Her eyes flash up to mine, understanding blooming in their intelligent depths.

  
I walk towards my car, squeezing my teeth together so hard, that my jaw starts hurting. I try not to turn around and look like a damn teenager. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. I turn around. Ava is framed in pink surges of cloud and sunlight that sometimes happen in the desert. She waves awkwardly once she sees that I caught her staring at my retreating form. I nod. Her hair tumbles around her face. Her feet are bare. She’s beautiful.

  
Damn. I am toast.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 

"....see, the secret is not to show any fear." Scott continues to yap away to no one in particular. Cleaning and making sure our guns and arsenal are all in good working condition is just good practice. Guns jamming, or empty chambers, they can get pretty problematic when you're out there fighting for your and your team's life. We've done this so many times that it's monotonous and quite therapeutic at this point. Kind of like when one of my foster moms would bring me to the laundry mart and I stare at the laundry machine while it goes round and round and round. We're all sitting around the computer lighted table, guns spread out on it, trying to drown out Scott’s constant yap.

"Like when I fought this big mother father, Igor," he continues, unaware, or perhaps not caring, that no one pays him any mind. "Remember, Mikey? In Kuala Lumpur? You saw him right. Right?" He insists.

I nod distractedly, "He fuckin' warms up by punching poor tree trunks... With his bare hands!" was the punchline. “Heeeeh….Heeeeh….” he laughs his maniacal laugh and my mind drifts to my dark thoughts once again. 

Kerry. My Kerry. Kate. Grant. Porter. Everyone in my life dies. My life is full of blood and darkness and isolation. I have no business thinking of Ava and all the whatifferys. It's not fair for her. Ava. I feel guilty, just thinking of her. Her smiling eyes. Her lips. Her behind, swaying gently as she walks away.

Riiiiiiiiing.... My phone's shrill ringing suddenly breaks through my dark thoughts. My phone. My personal phone. Riiiiiii....... I stand up so suddenly that my chair falls back with a loud clatter behind me. I grab my phone near Baxter, who looks up at me with wide, surprised eyes. Scott clutches his gun with one hand against his chest, and puts his other hand out just in time to catch another from falling off the table. "What the fu....." he starts, looking at me as if I've lost my mind. Three pairs of startled eyes look up at me as I answer my phone.

"Michael here." A beat.

"Hi." Ava. It's Ava. My lips start to creep up in a smile without my approval, and I brutally squash it down. I have a sinking feeling that I didn't quite hide it when I see Scott wrinkle his eyes, and purse his mouth questioningly at Richmond, who in turn, shrugs her slim shoulders.

"Hello there," I answer, walking briskly towards the back of the lockers. Away from nosy people with nothing better to do than be nosy bodies. Nosy bastards.

"How's the face?" Ava's voice is smiling.  
"Hurts." I answer.  
"And the nose?"  
"Hurts," I can't help it. I smile. I can feel the goofy grin on my face. Damn.

"I'm really sorry about that. My father always tells me my hair matches my temper," she says with obvious affection in her voice. Ah, I'm sorry Ava. I know it hurts. "Anyway!" she shakes herself off of her morose mood and tries for a lightness she obviously doesn't feel with a joke, "Want me to kiss and make it better?"

A sudden and very vivid image of her full lips on my face flashes in my mind's eye. "Er... Um... I would... I would like that. Very much," my throat is suddenly dry, and I swallow convulsively. I brace my back against my locker, and slowly lower myself until I feel the cold cement against my backside. I can hear her breathe on the other line.

She clears her throat. "I... I actually called because I found information about some cash transactions that my father made recently," she sidesteps the bomb that I just opened up with my confession. "I need to fly to the States tomorrow, but I'll be at a fundraiser before my flight. I can give you the USB there. If you... If you have the time." She hurriedly finishes her statement.

"Yes. Yes. I can be there." I stammer. She rattles off an address in a posh side of town. "I'll see you tomorrow, Sergeant Stone... erm... Michael," her voice is low, quiet. The sound of my name on her lips makes my stomach feel strange. Warmth in my belly spreads up to my face.

"See you soon. Ava." I whisper. I hear a click on the other end. I feel myself scratch an imaginary itch on my left face with the fingers of my right hand, trying to cover up my smile. Damn, Scott says that fake scratch is my biggest tell. I snatch my hand away. I hang up as well, then turn my phone over and over in my hand.

 

"You know I can see you guys, yeah?" I say to my phone. Richmond, Baxter, and Scott, their eyes and the tops of their heads the only things peeking up from around the locker, vertically arranged by height like freakin' cartoon characters, slowly emerge.

"You okay, buddy?" Scott ventures, hesitance showing in his stance.

"I'm fine," I answer.

His eyes show concern, "What's up with your face?" he angles his head, seeks Richmond's eyes, points a finger down at my sitting form, and asks her, "Is he... is he smiling?!" He wonders in awe. "Is Sgt. StoneUpHisAss smiling?"

Julia looks at me with her beautifully lashed eyes, happiness and a touch of melancholy touches her brows. I know she's thinking of Kerry. And Kate. And her tragically stoic friend, Stonebridge. And that she utters a silent thanks to a God she still believes in, for granting this murderous sinner a chance at a smile. My chest tightens. I have really good friends. I'm a lucky son of a bitch.

She turns to Scott and makes her eyes even wider, "I believe that is, indeed, a smile we're being allowed a glimpse of."

Baxter says; "Huh. Would you look at that. Should we be looking at that? Isn't it bad luck, like looking at the sun?"

"That's when you go blind, idiot." says smarty pants Scott.

I give them all the finger. "That was Ava Knox. She has something for us." I finally tell the comedy troupe around me.

Scott does a double take, and says, "Awe shiiiiiiiiiiiiit. Mikey is in lust with the lovely Miss Knox." I can practically see the lights go off on top of his head, inside a cloud like in a comic strip. "You think it's because of her hair?" he asks Julia.

"Nah, I think it's her right hook," she joins the fun.

"Maybe it's her mind," Baxter chimes in, ever the optimist. They all start walking back towards the computer light table, still discussing their poor friend. Their poor friend with a smile, stretching and hurting his cheeks with the strangeness of it all.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I walk inside a building much warmer and homier than the last house in the desert that I’ve visited. Fire crackles inside stone bricks in three corners of the large space. Tall tables, small enough for three people each to crowd around, are placed in equal spaces throughout. Waiters are passing appetizers and drinks, white gloves glinting in the dim light. My eyes scan the elegantly dressed crowd, and stop at an emerald green dress. Ava. My heart thumps. Her hair is long and very straight, pulled in a severe tail at the back of her neck. Her eyes are wide and fathomless, highlighted with dark green shadow. She watches my approach with serious green eyes.

Her bodyguards squint their eyes at me and one of them says, "You again, Blondie? " with a flex of his giant neck muscles.

"Patrick," I nod at him. "SpongeBob," I acknowledge the other. I smile, proud of my own wittiness, and turn to look at Ava. Unsmiling, she walks towards me, places her hands on my shoulders, tiptoes up, and puts her face close to mine. The smile abruptly leaves my face and without thinking about it, I automatically lean down to accommodate her height. I feel her lips on my cheeks. So light it feels like butterfly wings beating against my skin. She traces my bruise with her lips all the way to my chin. I smell her breath, warm and sweet and strawberry-infused. I gently place my hands on her hips. My pants feel tighter. Shit. Think of something disgusting. Scott. His hyena laugh. His hairy chest. Ava finally decides to stop the torture and turns her head, kisses the tip of my nose with a quick peck, and leans back to look at me.

"Better?" she asks. I nod like an idiot. She finally smiles. We stare at each other, I don't know for how long, with matching smiles on our lips. Someone clears their throat. I look at SpongeBob, who's looking back at me with a frown on his broad, dark face. Probably wondering what happened between the punch on the nose and the kiss on the cheek. I smirk at him and wiggle my eyebrows, just to annoy him. Ava notices the exchange and laughs her funny laugh.

Someone taps on a microphone, "Testing one, two, three. Testing". A slender fellow with thick glasses is up on the small stage and looks at Ava. "Without further adieu, I present to you, the lovely Miss Ava Knox," he extends one hand toward our direction. Ava looks up and smiles at me, then walks towards the stage. Her speech is funny and convincing. Towards the end of it, when the crowd is laughing, putty in her hands, she winks at me. This stupid smile will not leave my face. I scratch an imaginary itch on my left face with the fingers of my right hand. Damnit.

 

After her speech, she walks back towards me and introduces me to all the people who were clamoring for "just a minute of your time, dear." She's gracious and real. Finally, the crowd leaves us alone. We talk about her foundation and she points out people with her pursed lips, and proceeds to tell me intimate, hilarious, and scandalous things about each of them. Her eyes are alive and glows with wicked humor. She leans in conspiratorially and whispers in my ear. She laughs uproariously at my lame jokes with her head tipped back, her long neck exposed. She touches my arm when she makes particularly serious pronouncements and scrunches her nose when I tell her she looks beautiful in her dress. After a few hours, has it been hours? It feels like just mere minutes have passed, one of her goons leans in and whispers something in her ear. She looks crestfallen, and turns big eyes toward me. "I have to go. My plane leaves in an hour." My stomach clenches. There's an emptiness there that feels hollow and dark.

"How long will you be away?" I ask.

"Probably a month," her sad eyes say. She turns and says her goodbyes to people near us, then gathers her small red bag made of feathers. I drag my feet and follow her to the elevator. I can do this. I'm big, bad Sgt. Stonebridge. I belong to an elite military branch. A soldier of the SAS. The elite of the elite of the elite. I'm strong enough to watch her leave. Her bodyguard punches the down button and silence reigns on our little party of four. She's looking down, I'm looking at everything except at her. I can feel my jaw ticking as I squeeze my teeth together. I probably should stop doing that. My jaw is starting to hurt. The elevator opens, and the three of them walk in. She turns and finally looks up at me. She smiles bravely as the door closes. Her face is getting smaller and smaller, as the steel door of the elevator slowly covers her.

Fuck this - I slam my arm inside the door, and push myself inside. Her bodyguards roll their eyes and I hear one of them say, "Oh hell,” before purposely turning their heads toward the front, their hands behind the small of their backs. I advance on Ava, she looks scared and walks backwards until her back touches steel.

"What are you doing..." is all she manages, before I capture her lips with mine. The first touch of her lips is shocking. That's the closest word I can think of - it shocked my system. It feels like I'm drowning and someone finally takes pity on me and throws me an oxygen tank. Her lips are warm and soft and after a while, I feel her arms go up around my neck, one hand still clutches her funny little feather bag, and the other softly cups the hair on my nape. Our kisses are all bite now, hard and fierce. I touch my tongue against her lips, asking for permission to enter. She opens her mouth with a sigh. My hands grip her hips, I hope I'm not leaving bruises on her skin. On second thought, I hope I am leaving bruises so that she'll think of me when she sees them. I'm shocked at my animal way of thinking. I'm such a baboon, I think. I explore her mouth, battle with her tongue. I hear her soft gasp, then she instinctively rubs her body on mine. I can feel her whole body. Her soft breasts pressing against my chest. All coherent thoughts leave my brain. I press my hardness into her stomach. I'm beyond caring, beyond embarrassment that her two bodyguards are here. Beyond reason. I need to have her. I need to hitch her skirt around her hips and take her here and now. I need to be inside Ava. I start to slide my hands toward the hem of her dress. Ava pulls her mouth away from mine, and I will never admit, until I die, that I made a noise similar to a little girl being denied her favorite doll. I try to catch her lips with mine once again, but before I can, she utters, "This is terrible." My heart sinks,

"It is?" I ask.

"Yes. This means I will think of you the whole time I'm in America" I smile in relief,

"Then my goal is complete."

The elevator dings, and the door opens to an underground garage. I reluctantly let Ava go and limp ahead, the hardness straining the front of my trousers, painful. "Can I call you?" I blurt out.

"I'll be sad if you don't." she smiles. I look at her, lips moist and swollen from my kisses. She walks backwards toward her car, her bodyguards on either side of her. I let her take three steps, then I follow.

"Wait," I huff. I catch up to her, grab her, and proceed to kiss her again. I let her go. She walks three steps. I follow, grab, kiss her again. She laughs and tries to punch me in the shoulder. She's so short that her fist barely graze my upper arm. I clutch my arm in mock pain. She laughs again. She finally reaches her car and reluctantly gets in. Her bodyguards sigh in relief. I stand there and watch as she slowly leaves me in her shiny silver car.

I squeeze my teeth together and my jaw reminds me that it’s not such a great idea at this time. I can smell her perfume on me. I turn and walk towards my own Crib-issued car, putting my hands inside my trouser pockets. I feel something in the right pocket that shouldn’t be there. I withdraw my hands and stare at the USB port wrapped in white napkin.

Damn it to hell, I forgot what I was supposed to be doing tonight. That is unacceptable. I was so distracted by pillowy lips and wide eyes that I could’ve botched this mission. Again! I shake my head at Ava’s clever hands that obviously crept down my pants while I was unaware of anything except her kisses. Damn, she’s good. I open the napkin wider, and there, imprinted in blood red lipstick, is the perfect shape of her perfect lips.

I smile.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Scott says my constant smiling is freaking him out. He wants me to stop. I try. I really do. After all, I have a reputation to keep. But everytime I think of Ava, my lips twitch upwards. It's a madness I can't cure. We talk on the phone. We Skype. We text. If I had a Facebook account, I would be stalking her there as well.

I just got out of the shower, drying my hair with a small towel that is suspiciously wet. I could've sworn I hung it on the shower rack last night. I look at the offending towel again, frowning at it, when I hear Scott hollering downstairs, "Dinner in ten, Stonehead!"

Did I mention I'm rooming with him? My old place is just too empty, or too full, with memories of Kerry. I can't bring myself to live there anymore. My life there is finished. I'm ready to move on. Scott is my closest mate. I will lay down my life for that bloke. Take a bullet for him without a second thought. Living with him is surprisingly easy. If you close your eyes to all the mess he makes and the way he puts his feet up on every. available. surface. And his terrible taste in tea. Other than that, we get along fine. The house phone rings, and my freakin' face contorts itself into a smile. Again. Damnit  
.  
"Hi there," I greet Ava.

  
"Hi Handsome," she pants. Pants? What is she doing, panting like that?

  
"Er.. What are you doing?"

  
"Oh, I just finished my run. Thought I'd catch you before dinner." I hear rustling in the background. And imagine her taking off her sports bra. Then her running shorts. Then her underwear... "Michael?" I hear her voice, and I have a feeling it wasn't the first or second time she has said my name. I shake my head, and sit my dirty minded ass down on the corner of my bed.

"Sorry, I didn't quite hear you." I confess. "What did you say again?"

"I was just telling you about this adorable cat I saw during my run that turned out to be a mountain lion! Can you imagine?" she laughs. I smile and imagine her face.

"What are you wearing?" I suddenly blurt out.

"Um. I'm just about to take a shower so... just a towel?" she squeaks. My cock stands on attention. Shit. Why did I have to ask her that when she is thousands of miles away and I won't be able to do anything about it? She's silent on the other end of the line, and I was afraid I've insulted her when her voice comes back on the line, low and throaty as she asks me,

"What are you wearing, Sergeant?" "Don't tell me," she continues. "I bet you're wearing nothing but black underwear. Your chest is naked, you're lying down, your hair is still wet from your shower." How the hell did she know all that? "I wish I was there with you right now." A deep breath. "Because if I was, I would put my hands on your chest, and I'll slowly slide them down your stomach, down your thighs, then up again, until I feel your straining cock in my hands."

"Ava!" I say, shocked to hear those words coming from her innocent mouth. Shocked and deliciously excited.

"I want to slide your underwear off,” she continues, undeterred, “so I can have an unencumbered view of your amazing body. Once my eyes have had their fill, my mouth will follow." Oh God, I'm so hard it's painful. "Will you let me, Michael? Will you let me kiss your chest? I will kiss you all the way to your nipples. I want to suck on them and bite them. Once they're hard and moist, I will go down to your stomach and kiss you there. I want to touch my tongue to your belly button and lick a straight path to the inside of your thighs." I audibly swallow. "And when you least expect it, I will capture your cock in my mouth, swallow you whole, all the way until you hit the back of my throat."

"Fuck, Ava," I close my eyes and imagine her head between my legs, bobbing up and down, twirling her tongue on the head of my cock.

"I will cup your balls in my hand, and will suck you until you beg me to take pity on you." I touch my balls and tug my cock even before I was aware of doing it. My breath comes in shallow pants and I can hear Ava panting on the other end of the line. "You'll try real hard not to buck and you'll grit your teeth to stay still because you're a gentleman but I will put your hands on my head, your fingers tangle in my hair, and I will ask you to fuck my mouth. Fast and hard. As fast and as hard as you want. Oh. Michael. Ooooh..." I hear her orgasm and it was the hottest thing I've ever heard in my life. I pull and tug and swirl my hand around my cock until I can't take it any longer, and I come in big, hulking spurts of release.

"Ah... Ah… Ah… Fuuuuuuuck." I groan into the phone.

The ringing in my ears gradually subsides, and I hear her giggling. I smile my smile and the need to touch and hug her is so overwhelming that my heart lurches.

"Hi," she says.

  
"Hello there," I smile into the phone.

  
"Hi guys," a deep, laughing voice booms in our ears.

  
"Damien, get off the fuckin' phone or I swear to God, I'm gonna hurt you!" I holler at the top of my lungs.

Ava laughs uncontrollably on the other end of the line.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

 

One more week. Seven more days. Fifty six more hours before I get to see Ava again. The clock has never moved so fuckin’ slow in my entire life. Barring that time I tried to figure out what color wire to cut off of that damn bomb inside that man's abdomen.

I’ve just finished working out downstairs, punching the crap out of the boxing bag without gloves on. My knuckles are starting to get red, but the pain feels good. My pants are low on my waist and I can feel the the couch's springs on my bare back. Right now, I'm lying on Scott's couch, I mean, "our" couch, watching a documentary on the tellie. He promises to kick my arse if I say "Scott's couch" again. It needs to be "our" couch, and "our" stove, "our" tellie. It's enough to drive a man insane. I'm all for sharing, but I'm slowly realizing that I got myself a wife again. A big, hairy, lug of a wife. But I know what he's doing. He's making me feel as if I belong here. And as strange as it may sound, I'm actually learning to unclench a bit and accept this new life. Even enjoy it. With my big hairy wife.

 

"Yo, Mikey!" speak of the devil.

"Up here, mate," I holler back. Heavy steps run up, and I see Scott's dusty running shoes clomping up towards me, the comfy cushions dipping as he settles on the couch next to mine, hairy legs lift onto the coffee table. He clasps my shoulder with his big paws and grins down at my prone position on the couch.

"Don't tell me," he closes his eyes and points a finger towards the television. "You are watching a documentary about Pearl Harbor!" I frown at him and deny the whole thing.

"No. For your information, it's a documentary regarding the pilot fighters involved in the bombing of Pearl Harbor. So, not about Pearl Harbor, per se." I point out. Scott rolls his eyes and laughs then claps his hand on his chest.

"I got good news for you, buddy," he waggles his eyebrows up and down.

"Oh yeah?" I ask suspiciously. "Does it have to do with the fact that you finally remembered to buy that fabric softener you've been promising all week?"

"Oh yah, I forgot about that,” he stops and scratches his stubble. "But it's way, way, WAY better than that." I just look at him and give him that I-have-no-time-to-listen-to-your-dumbass-theories look. "Okay, okay," he puts his hands up like he's given up and I can shoot him all I like. "There's a med evac transport leaving the base in an hour. And guess where it's headed?" I can't wait, my bored look says to him. "Napa, California! California, buddy! Isn't that where your lovey dovey cutie pootootie Ava is?" He purses his lips and pretends he's kissing an imaginary air person. My heart thuds.

"You serious?" My mind starts to calculate and plan and re-calculate and install plans A and B. And perhaps Plan C, just in case...

"What are you waiting for, fucker? Go get your ass in gear and get yourself a little somefing somefing from your woman!" He bursts into my reverie. I stand up from the couch with a stupid smile on my face, and start to turn towards the bedroom to put my shirt on. I abruptly turn back around, walk to the couch, lean in, grab Scott's face, and give him a big, loud kiss right on his big, dirty pucker. "Arrrrgh!" he yells and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "What the fuck, man! Get out of here," he yells at me with a glint of laughter in his eyes.

 

 **Napa, California. United States of America**.

 

Ava is standing by some wine barrels with some important looking silver-haired gentlemen, her two galoots not far behind. She’s wearing a knee-length tight blue skirt, pin-striped long polo shirt, her hair hangs behind her back, long and straight and soft. Her cute little feet are encased in ridiculous leopard shoes with ridiculously high heels. Did I just say “cute?” I do not say “cute”. Scott is gonna have a field day with StoneWall uttering such dainty words such as “cute”. I drink her in like a thirsty man in a scorching hot desert. She is beautiful.

  
She scrunches her nose in the middle of a conversation with one of the silver foxes, looks around, and zeroes in on me, lounging against the arched doorway of the underground winery with my arms folded against my chest. Michael the Relaxed Lounger. She squints her eyes, frowns, and tries to make sense of the image that she’s seeing. Suddenly, her face breaks into a radiant smile, squeals, and runs towards me, uncaring of the startled glances from her companions. I just remain where I am, then grab and hold her tight, twirling her around the dim cave. She smells amazing. She’s warm and soft and… Ava. I finally put her down and she looks at me with wide eyes, suspiciously bright. She surreptitiously wipes a finger under her eyes, and demands, “What are you doing here!”

I smile mysteriously and glance at her bodyguards. They do not look happy to see me. “Are you done here?” I ask instead.

  
“I am now,” she smiles. I grab her hand and bend down to pick up the basket that Richmond has prepared. I pull her towards the door, out of the darkness, and into the light of the warm California sun.

We walk along, side by side, her soft hands in mine, passing by small cafes, interesting art galleries, clothing shops with dogs tied outside by the metal benches in fluffy pink collars, wagging their tails and waiting for their owners to finish whatever errands they deem to do on this glorious day. Ava stops at a few of the pups, and happily scratches their heads. They just look at her with worship in their eyes. I hope I fair better than these dogs, and please God, if you’re out there, do not let me look like these poor heartsick bastards. But somehow, I think it’s a bit too late for that. I look at her and I can feel the smile fighting their way out of my usually stoic expression. Her bodyguards trail behind us.

I finally reach my destination – the backyard of an art gallery. Tall, lush trees surround us on all sides, soft grass on our feet. I open the basket, shake out a blanket, then lay it down with a flourish on the grass. Ava takes off her shoes and sits down on a corner of it. I take out the rest of Richmond’s feast and Ava’s face lights up with surprise. I add wine that I bought from the winery, some bread from Bouchon, tapas from Thomas Keller, dessert from the famous Michelin-rated French Laundry which takes four months to get reservations at. But if you’re a badass like I am, you get by. Well, that, and Sinclair. Okay, I admit, it was all Sinclair. Smooth bastard thinks he can steal my Bond image.

We happily munch and take sips, but mostly, we just look at each other. She animatedly talks about her time in Napa, the money she has raised already taking shape in her mind as an all-girls school in the poor recesses of her beloved Africa. She talks and squints and touches my arm. Surprisingly, I don’t mind all the talking, she doesn’t remind me at all of Scott’s constant yapping. I look around the picturesque little town, and I can imagine lazy weekends spent here. Weekdays in Sausalito. Maybe snowboard and hike in Tahoe. Or drive up to Yosemite to look at the majestic falls. And in all these scenarios, I can see Ava very clearly. Ava’s face peeking out of a giant red puffer snow jacket. Ava’s cute, er.. small, feet, in hiking boots. Ava’s strong body in a green swimsuit. I don’t see Kerry anymore like I used to. We met when we were seventeen and my whole life, she has been the one constant. But I don’t see her anymore. It’s startling and sad. Guilt floods my stomach. I look at Ava, she’s looking at me. I’ve shared a bit of my history with her, not all. But enough to see that she has read my mind, or felt the melancholy in me.

  
“Hey,” she touches my arm. “What did the baby tomato say to the daddy and mommy tomatoes?” I look at her with a puzzled expression on my face. “Wait for me, I need to ketch-up!” She laughs. “Get it?! Get it?! Ketch-up? Ketchup? Catch-up? Because he’s a tomato!” she holds her stomach as another laugh shakes her whole body.

  
“If you have to explain the joke, it loses the laugh quotient, yeah?” I patiently explain to her bent head. She punches me in the shoulder and I catch her hand, and finally, finally, kiss her after what seems to be an eternity ago. I mean to only satisfy my need to kiss, and perhaps to breathe in her scent, since I only have less than an hour before the med evac helicopter comes and picks me up. But this kiss is starting to heat up. I try my darndest to keep the heat to a simmer, but it seems Ava has other plans. She places her hands on my chest, seemingly innocent and gentle. She opens her mouth and sighs into mine. Ah. This is worth riding in the nausea-inducing helicopter for 21 hours. This is exactly what I need. Her hands creep up to my neck, encircle my head, and she leans back onto the blanket. I follow. I will follow her anywhere. I’m afraid to crush her, so I brace myself on my right elbow as I cover her body with mine. She immediately arches her back, and presses her chest up. My kisses are getting heated. Her hands travel down to my arms, back to my shoulders, down my back, to my ass. She presses me down against her, and I make a strangled sound. She inches her left foot up my right leg and touches her tongue to the roof of my mouth. The heat is almost unbearable.

  
In my compromised state, I am dimly aware, that the last time I was this close in proximity to this woman, I about lost my damn mind and nearly taken her against the elevator door, in full view of her bodyguards. I will not make the same mistake. I know I shouldn't... But I'll give myself a few more minutes of this heaven. Ava breaks away from my seeking lips and starts to kiss my jaw. She licks a hot trail to my ear, then takes a nibbling bite of my lobe. Maybe a few more minutes. I swear I'll stop after a few more.... Her lips are now busy with hot open kisses in the back of my ear, on my throat. She sucks my collarbone and I feel her hands slip under my shirt, up towards my chest. Her nails graze my nipples and I explode into action.

I sit up, holding both her arms, and help her up. I practically manhandle her towards the back of the gallery building where giant potted palms shield us from her bodyguards and the rest of the trickling crowd. Her back hits the brick wall, and I follow. I start kissing her jaw, her ears, her neck, to show her the sweet torture that she just put me through. Ava's breathing is labored. She's making gasping noises that does very bad things to my lower extremities. My hands slowly move up from its death grip on her hips to her torso, until my fingers are centimeters away from the bottom swell of her breasts. She arches her chest and I'm powerless against the pull of her wonderful mounds. My hands cup her breasts. She gasps. I tear my lips away from her collarbone and start to unbutton her shirt. I notice that my hands are unstable. I have bravely faced truly evil people who have no qualms in squashing me like a bug, but presented with Ava's buttons, my hands shake. I almost laugh at the absurdity of it all. I finally unbutton three of the damn things and as I peel her shirt back, my eyes are presented with a lacy black bra. Scalloped edgings cover creamy pale skin. I touch the edges with one finger in wonder. I need more. Just a bit more. I pull down the black lace and I gaze at dark pink nipples, hard and straining towards me.

"You're perfect," I whisper. I lower my head and take one of them in my mouth.

  
"Oh God," she moans. I lick the precious bud, then twirl my tongue around it. A gentle nip of my teeth and Ava's lower back arches away from the wall. "Michael!" she gasps. I reach for the other and give it the same treatment.

Her hands are holding the sides of my face. She pushes me back, and I notice her irises are almost black with want. She looks down at the front of my trousers where I can't hide how much I want her. She places a finger on the top of the straining fabric, and slowly lets it travel down to the base of my cock.  
"Jesus," I mutter. She moves her finger just as slowly up to the head. I place my forehead against hers and we both watch as her finger slowly travels up and down my length. On the third run, I place my hand on top of her finger and press them toward my hardness. "Stop, baby." I plead. "Before I embarrass myself."

I contradict my words by pressing my hand against her fingers once again. She turns her palms and grabs my painful erection, then pushes it, pant fabric and all, up and down in three quick successions. "Fuck," I close my eyes and pray for strength. My hand on top of hers presses to stop the friction once again. I try to catch my breath and think of Scott's hairy chest. Our foreheads are still leaning against each other, and when I lift up my eyes, I see her smiling ones.

  
"Hi," she says.  
"Hello there," I smile.

We stay like that for long precious moments. Then I look at my watch and kiss her forehead. "I gotta go." I whisper.

  
"I know," she hugs me tight. I breathe her in.

I help her with her buttons, and see one of them dangling by a thread. We look at each other and laugh. I take her hand and walk over to our blanket. We gather everything then face the inevitable. We walk slowly towards her bodyguards. One dark eyebrow shoots up, then a big hand passes across his face in consternation. SpongeBob looks at Ava, then at me and asks, "Really?"

  
I look over at Ava - her face glows, her eyes too bright, shirt crumpled and buttons all askew. She laughs and places her forehead against the back of my shoulder, while holding on to my hand.

  
I can feel the air shift, and leaves suddenly whirl about by our feet. I grab Ava and kiss her forehead. The big, black helicopter swirls and kicks up dust on a clearing to our right. The bodyguards' eyes widen in surprise. I kiss Ava once again, then start walking towards the bird, my shirt blowing hard with all the wind pressure. I turn around, walk three steps back to Ava, and kiss her long and hard. I end it with quick little pecks on her lips and nose and she laughs.

I cover my eyes with my elbow and run to the helicopter. I sit sidesaddle on the open hull, tap the side door and say, "Go, go, go!" I could've sat in the front of the helicopter and put on a helmet and seat belt, but that would’ve been less impressive. The bird flies up and I wave at Ava. Her hair whips about her face. Her feet bare. She's beautiful.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 

 

I wake up from my usual nightmare of blood and gore and fiery incinerators, gradually. I become aware of the air mattress on my back, and the soothing hum of the Crib's computers. I keep my eyes closed and try to regulate my breathing, like I've taught myself. I flex my left hand, just to assure myself that it was just a dream. I hear Damien talking quietly, for once, not in his usual decibel of annoying. Richmond's voice is in here somewhere as well. 

"...never seen him like this. Almost makes me miss the carrot." Damien's voice. 

"Up his ass?," Richmond asks, "the carrot up his ass?," she makes sure she understand him correctly. 

"Yep. The one and only." Scott confirms. Julia laughs quietly and I realize they're talking about me. 

"I'm happy for him. He deserves it," she says in a low tone. 

"Yeah. He's been through a lot," Scott says gravelly. He sighs deeply and seems to shake off his adult voice. "You should hear him on the phone with her. 'Er, lovely Ava, would you mind putting your lovely lips on my razor sharp jaws, careful you don't cut yourself'" Scott mimics in a terrible British accent. "I should've known he's the romantic type - look at his perfect teeth and all that muscle. All he's missing is the long blonde hair and he can be the next Danielle Steele naked cowboy cover." 

"Damien, be nice," Julia admonishes with affection in her voice. 

"I will, if you promise to be naughty tonight," Scott the gigolo. "Have I told you how particularly beautiful your boobies look in your black tank top today?" I roll my eyes inside my closed lids. Which is pretty hard to do, mind. I should put that skill on my resume. I hear Julia giggling. Julia giggling? I'm willing to bet my last uncut diamond that badass Julia, one of the very few female SAS soldiers, has never giggled in her life. I really hope she hasn't succumbed to Scott's bedroom charms. The man will put his leg over anything and anyone who stays still for five minutes. 

"I think they haven't done the deed yet though," Scott goes back to his second favorite subject, it seems. 

"What do you mean?" she's curious. 

"I mean they haven't danced the horizontal tango, haven't played hide the salami, haven't inserted his..."

"Oi. I can hear you, arsehole." I finally open my eyes and try to hurt him with my stare. Scott's eyes go wide with surprise, 

"I knew you were awake. Just messin' with ya, buddy." he lies through his teeth. 

"Wanker," I mumble as I sit up and stretch my shoulders blades together toward my middle back. Kerry says it's my Tarzan routine everytime I wake up. "Said", not "says", I correct myself. Kerry "said". I grab my shirt where it has fallen on the floor and put it on. 

"Nothing to do until tomorrow night, Mikey. You might want to do something about that carrot until then." 

"I am ," I say. "I'm going to go workout downstairs then grab an MRE." 

"Dude. You have a whole night of nothing in the calendar. You should visit the lovely Miss Knox. ‘Coz if you don't, I will. I'm sure she'll appreciate the status upgrade.”

 

I run up the stairs of a modern condominium building. As I get to the third floor, I start looking for number 7. I turn a corner and see a gold embossed "7" on a glossy black door. I take a deep breath, and knock. I give it a few seconds, then knock again. 

"Coming!" A singsong voice. 

The door opens and there Ava stands, wet hair in a loose bun on top of her head, loose curly strands around her face, dressed in a long, green, satin kimono with a shiny sash around her waist. And nothing else. I swallow. 

"Do not open the door without asking who it is first," is the first thing I say. 

"Well, hello to you too, Sergeant WorryWart" her eyes crinkle. I take my right hand out from behind my back and present her with six thick stems of purple water lilies. She takes them from me with a smile, 

"I thought we were going to see each other tomorrow and not today?" 

"I...er..." miss you, "had a night off," I say in a rush, not quite willing to admit such a weighty emotion. "They close during the day and open at night," I motion towards the flowers in her hands. "I should've called first. If you're tired from your flight from Napa..." Ava smiles behind the flowers and start walking towards a row of gray cabinets. I close the door and follow. There's a long slab of carrera marble countertop in front of a modern stove and sink surrounded by three tall silver stools. A long, royal blue velvet couch sits in front of a rectangular opening with jeweled stones that serve as clever fire kindling, cracking in the dim light. White chairs, large windows, and long thick curtains complete my first impression of her surroundings. "Where are our friends?" I wonder aloud. 

"I implemented a new rule," she says. Her voice dips on the word "implement" with a hint of violence. "only when I leave this compound are they allowed to follow me. Otherwise, I'm on my own." She goes up on her tiptoes and opens a high cabinet. The long wide sleeves of her robe falls open to reveal strong arms, and the front slit parts to reveal a sliver of leg. I look away and pretend I'm busy looking at the views outside. "Would you like to join me for dinner?" she says as she arranges the water lilies in a thick glass vase that she finds in her offending topmost cabinet. "I was just sitting down to dinner when you barged in" she jokes. 

"Sure. If it's not a bother. Thank you." Without the threat of bodyguards, or helicopters, or planes to take one of us away from the other, the night seems open and dangerous. She arranges two thick white plates with chicken and vegetables from the oven, and instructs me to get glasses and wine from her collection near the refrigerator. We sit on the stools and I take a bite out of my plate. It was terrible. Horrific. I try to make it go down my throat without her noticing my grimace. 

"I don't cook that much, but I think I'm getting better at it, if I do say so myself," she declares, happily eating her portion of the disgusting dish. I slice off the tiniest sliver I can possibly manage, and put it bravely in my mouth. 

"Yeah, yeah, good job Ava. Cheers." 

The torture, otherwise called supper, by Ava, finally draws to a close. I wipe my brow and take a gulp of the cold Riesling. We start clearing the dishes, and I offer to rinse as she soaps them in the sink. She's telling me about this paella recipe that she saw online and wants to try. Dear God, I hope I'm chest-deep in the Amazon River on a mission far, far away, even faced with Scott’s dreaded candiru fish, when she tries her hand at that dish. 

Her aforementioned hands are covered with bubbles in the sink as she hands me a plate to rinse. Her nape has little droplets of water from her damp hair. I follow the trail of the droplets from her hair, to her neck, to her back, and I finally give myself permission to let go of the tight grip that I’ve clamped on my need to touch her. She lets out a little yelp when I grab her with my wet hands. Her arms go around my shoulders as she tiptoes and meets my mouth. "Finally," she breathes. Ah. Finally, indeed. 

Ava in my arms. I sigh, as if my soul can finally take a deep breath after months of gasping, floundering about in search of oxygen. She rubs her body on mine like a cat purring, that I'm happily starting to recognize as a very Ava move. I can feel her body, all of it, and I can now tell for certain that she is not wearing anything under her satin covering. Her tongue slides over my teeth as I touch her shoulders, down her back, and into her ass. My erection presses insistently against her stomach. Her hands are busy exploring my chest, and when I involuntarily flinch when her fingers pass my nipples, she comes back with her thumb and forefinger, and pinches them. My dick jumps as if there's an invisible string between my nipple and cock. "Jesus," I can't help but hiss. She rolls her fingers on my right nub, and bends down to lick then bite the other. "Ava..." I grab her thighs and place her on top of the carrera marble countertop. 

Her kimono falls open, the sash, a green ribbon against her stomach, and I see her entire body for the very first time. My imagination falls very very short of the reality in front of me. Her breasts are high and rose-tipped. Her stomach pale and quivering, a light patch of red hair covers her mound, and I can see underneath it to the glistening moistness, already wet and ready for me. I take a step and place myself between her legs. I bend down and start devouring her breasts. Her legs wrap around me and her heat penetrates my trousers. I trail hot, open-mouth kisses all the way down her torso until I reach the center of her wetness. She places her hands on the counter behind her and tips her head back, her throat exposed, her long hair escapes their knot and hangs down, touching her bottom. I lick a trail down the slit of her core, up and down, up and down, then circle her little nub with my tongue. 

"Oh God," she pants, "Michael!" My cock twitches. I'm so hard that my trousers act like a torture device, pressing my erection down. I capture the nub with my mouth and start sucking. Her smell is intoxicating, musky and sweet and a scent distinctly her own. Her right foot finds purchase on a cabinet knob, and I hitch her other leg on my shoulder. Her moans are getting louder, my cock begs to be released. I insert my tongue all the way inside her core, then scrape her nub with my teeth. She screams and explodes in my mouth. I lick and kiss and help her get down from her high. I kiss a trail back up to her mouth and lets her taste her own juices on my tongue. 

Her whole body still shakes, but my good woman grabs my belt and starts non-too gently unbuckling it. "Inside me. Now," she commands and I'm just too happy to oblige. She unzips my pants, reaches in, and unceremoniously grabs my length out. 

"Jesus Christ," I hiss through gritted teeth. She stares at my engorged appendage with lust-filled eyes. She loosens her hold and traces my length with a single finger. 

"It won't fit," she says in wonder. I bark out a painful laugh, 

"We'll make it fit," I whisper. "I'll be gentle." She puts her clever finger on the head of my cock and spreads the pre-come that has pearled on top. 

"What if I don't want you to be gentle. What if I want you to take me hard and fast." I feel my cock jerk and tears up a fresh spurt of liquid. 

"Jesus, Ava, you're killing me," I beg her. She licks her lips and starts to enclose my erection with her hands, when I hear a knock on her door. 

"Nooooo," she says. "Go away!" 

 

"Yo Mikey!" A familiar voice hollers on the other end of the door. 

"Aw shit," I cuss under my breath. "I have to go, baby." I place my forehead against her collarbone and try to regulate my breathing. "I've instructed Scott to call me only under the warning of extreme pain. If he's willing to get his ass kicked by me, it must be important" I place a quick kick on her exposed nipples for the last time tonight and wrap her kimono around her. She looks up at me under her lashes, her cheeks rosy. 

"I might just punch him in the nose myself," she quips. I reluctantly back away, re-arranging my dick to lie more comfortably against my pants. I pull the door open in the middle of Damien's next knock, and level him with a glare. 

"Sorry bud, I tried calling but you weren't answering so I had Baxter trace your phone." His eyes flicker inside the room, and I try to block his sight. I feel someone move behind me, and I spin around to see Ava standing there, the light from the large windows framing her form. Her hair tumbles in wild disarray around her shoulders, her lips swollen and moist from my kisses, her nipples clearly outlined in her silk robe, a long flash of leg exposed. Her eyes are languid and half-lidded with her recent orgasm. She's breathtakingly beautiful. 

Scott and I stand there, gawking at this vision for a few precious moments. Her eyes finally move from mine to just behind me, and she smiles at Scott. "You owe me, Sergeant." She tells him. Scott's eyes are big saucers, his mouth turns up in his goofy grin, 

"Yes, ma'am." He happily ogles her up and down. I try pulling him out the door but he keeps resisting and smiling and craning his head to get glimpses of Ava. I finally put my arm around his neck and pull him out the door in a chokehold. 

"See you soon, Ava," I promise her. 

"Yeah, see you soon, Ava," Scott says, walking backwards, trying to claw his way out of my hold. 

I can hear her laughter following us down the hall.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

 

**Bogota, Colombia**

 

Our last mission is a clusterfuck of errors and misplaced trust. Scott is racked by guilt at not being able to protect Kamali like he promised his daughter. I can see the beginnings of self-flagellation around his eyes. I know how that looks like. I’ve been living with mine for a very long time. There’s nothing I can do but wait and make sure I’m around when Scott finally bursts. I keep running the op in my mind, trying to figure out how I could’ve prevented the three remaining missiles from going off and hurting Julia in the process. I see her eyes fill with pain whenever I close mine at night. It doesn’t matter how many times she tells me it’s not my fault. I should’ve fuckin’ stopped those crazy IRAs from their vicious attack. If only I ran faster. Or took that long shot. Or killed the bastard. So many forks in the road where my mind keeps running around in circles. If not for thoughts of Ava, I would have gone ‘round the bend a long time ago. I’m not aware of when it started, or even how it happened without my permission. But whether I like it or not, Ava has become my true north.

  

 

**London, England**

  

I open the door of Scott and mine’s townhome, to a vision in a slinky black dress. Ava stands there, a red bag on her shoulder, and determination in her eyes. “Thanks for coming, come on in and ….” I don't get to finish my sentence as Ava shoves me violently back, kicks the door behind her, throws her bag on the floor, and advances on me until my back hits the wall. She pounces on my mouth, all bite and tongue, frenzied and hot. “What are you….” I finally get a word in as her mouth leaves mine and trails a hot path to my neck. 

 

“Shhhh…..” she says as she untucks my white shirt from the waistband of my pants and starts unbuttoning it. She kisses each peek of flesh that she manages to uncover, and bites my nipple. 

 

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “Ava, I’m cooking dinner.” She pauses in her torture long enough to look at me, 

 

“Michael. I am done. With helicopters and plane rides and Damien showing up just when things are starting to get interesting.” She unbuckles my belt with ruthless efficiency as she continues, “I am taking what’s mine,” she unzips my jeans, “and you are going to stop talking,” she pushes my underwear down my hips, “or help me god, I’m going to be forced to hurt you.” and she kneels in front of me. The first touch of her mouth on the inside of my thighs burns me. Her mouth follows an invisible trail up, up, up, until she reaches my balls. I feel her tongue on the underside of my sack, and my head jerks back, hitting the wall with a loud thud. She slowly runs her tongue all over my balls, then continues her exploration towards my already rock-hard erection. Her tongue and lips burn a trail up my length, stopping just short of the engorged head of my cock. She repeats this numerous times, and each time I think she's finally going to end my agony by putting my cock in her mouth, she keeps stopping just a hair short of the part of me that is begging for her mouth. 

 

"Ava, please, baby..." I am way beyond begging. Finally, finally, her mouth covers the tip, and slowly goes down... then all hell breaks loose - the finesse and control she has shown so far, vanish in a blink of an eye. Her talented mouth, with the help of her right hand encircling the stem of my dick, pumps me hard and fast. "Oh Shit. Oh Shit!" My left hand grips the doorknob, and my right one makes a fist, involuntarily hitting the wall behind me. She hums on the downstroke and the vibration makes my cock twitch in response. Her left hand travels between my legs, and I feel her finger caressing the space between my balls and my ass. "Wait, wait, wait..." I pant. She doesn't wait. Her mouth keeps up the sweet sweet torture, she presses her finger on a spot behind my balls, and I explode. "Aaaaaah.... Aaaaaah.... Fuuuuck...." I can feel the hot spasms of my release leave my body in violent spurts and Ava greedily swallows them up. I'm blind and deaf for what seems like a long time, worse than when a flash bomb went off in my face. I slowly come to and see Ava's satisfied smirk as she gracefully rises to her feet. She looks me straight in the eye, her finger slowly wiping my come from her chest....then she licks her finger clean. She turns around, sashays toward the kitchen, and says, "So.... What's for dinner?" 

 

I am frozen by the door, my shirt gapes open, my pants gather in a puddle down my legs, and my underwear bunches around my hips. What the fuck just happened? I quickly set myself to rights, then I grab Ava in a running tackle. She screams and laughs and we collapse on the couch. 

 

"Hi," she says. 

"Hello there," I smile my smile. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

 

Dinner is a success. Ava is great company, we talk about everything and nothing at all. The quiet lulls in between are comfortable and natural that both of us don't find the need to cover up with awkward chatter. She's affectionate and warm and her funny little laugh charms me. The homemade lava cake that I worried over is Ava's "new addiction" and is my tight competition as her moans of ecstasy make apparent. We talk about family, our dreams, our fears. And I surprise myself by not putting up my usual wall of "Brit stiff upper lip" as Scott calls it. I find out she's been a professional dancer since she was eight, which explains her beautifully muscular legs. I tell her about my grandmother's snicker doodles and my devastation when she passed away. She talks of a privileged upbringing, her loneliness as an only child; and I share stories of my foster families, the good, the bad, and the truly sad things. We talk about Kate and Kerry and the baby girl we miscarried. I re-live that night when Kerry wakes up in a pool of blood and I call Damien, screaming on the phone about all the fuckin' blood. That night forever stamped in my brain when I had to be strong for Kerry, but cried like a baby, holding on for dear life, in Damien's arms. 

 

Ava touches my arms, and I see tears in her eyes as she rises from her chair and sits on my lap, kissing my cheeks, my forehead, my chin. She places quick little pecks on my lips, that gets longer and longer, then deliciously lingers. "Let's go to bed," she whispers. We hold hands and take the few steps to Damien's old guest room which we have renovated into a second master bedroom, complete with a full bath, hardwood floors, and French doors that open to a small outside terrace. I remember a whole summer of construction, just Damien and I; through concussions and terrorist threats. Through Black Bear Prison and cattle prods. Through Kate's and Kerry’s deaths. I'm very proud of this space. Building it has kept me sane. 

 

I close the door softly behind us as Ava turns in a half circle, admiring our handiwork. She returns to where I stand, rooted to the spot. This is it, I think. The point of no return. I don't sleep around, I'm just not wired like that. I admire Damien's ability to compartmentalize his life into a series of one night stands. Kerry and I met when we were seventeen, we were each other's first sexual partners. Then I met Kate and a dangerous, frustrating mission made us turn to each other to blow some steam or go insane. Then there’s the frenzied handjob from Kim, I remember with affection. I'm not embarrassed by my lack of sexual partners, but I don't go around talking about it either. What I lack in numbers, I make up for in quality. 

Ava caresses my face, I lean in and kiss her in earnest. I resolve to take this slow, cherish her body, we have all the time in the world. I know she's on the pill, and my job requires a full physical exam every three months, which really doesn’t matter since my last coupling was two years ago with Kerry. I slowly undress her down to her emerald green bra and panties. She takes her time in taking off my clothes. A different kind of heat takes over my body, different than the violent encounter against my front door. We walk body against body toward the bed, until the back of Ava's bottom touches the high mattress. I slowly lower her to the bed, and follow, my right elbow braced against her upper body. My left hand slowly touches her. Her neck, her breasts, her stomach. It takes me three fumbling tries before I can get her bra off. She laughs breathlessly and kisses me. I take off the last barrier of her clothing, and she's laid out perfectly before me. My erection is hot and heavy, pulling insistently down on my stomach. I take ahold of it, and guide it towards her blessed heat. We both gasp as I push my tip into her. She's wet and ready but she's very tight. No wonder she was afraid I wouldn't fit. I'm not sure if it's her petite height or nature just made her this snug, so I painstakingly push my cock inch by slow inch until I'm inside her to the hilt, my balls wet with her juices. I stop myself from rutting into her like an animal, and let her get used to my girth. I kiss her deeply and thoroughly and she wiggles underneath me impatiently. "Baby baby, please..." it's her turn to beg. I slowly pull out until my cock is almost all the way out, then slam it back into her moist heat. She screams and pleads for more. Payback is a bitch, I want to jest, but I'm too near my release and I need all the help I can get not to come too fast. 

"I'm sorry baby, I don't think I can be gentle," I pant in her ear. "I don't want to hurt you," my control is almost gone. 

“Fuck me. Hard,” she commands in a gasp.

"Jesus, Ava. Oh Fuck. Fuuuuck." I lose all reasoning and slam my cock hard and fast into her tight sheath. Her moans are getting louder and louder, her nails dig a fresh trail down my back while her other hand grips my ass. I pull her legs higher up my hips and spread them wider. All the while slamming in and out of her with abandon. I tilt my hips upwards and feel my cock hit something deep inside her as I bite her nipples, hard. Ava's back arches off the bed and she lays suspended in mid-air for a few seconds with a noiseless scream. I feel her orgasm hit with such force that I reach my own with a helpless roar. I can feel her insides clenching and unclenching around my cock, milking me dry. "Gaaaaaah. Baby." I moan against her neck....

Slowly, I become aware of my surroundings once again. I know I'm crushing her so I try to move, but I feel strong arms encircle my back, and keep me there. I finally have enough strength to push my face away from her neck, and look at her in wonder. She's radiant. 

"Hi," she says. 

"Hello there," I smile. "That was...that was... I can't feel my toes," I finally manage. 

She laughs delightedly, "I'll take that as a compliment," she winks at me. 

 

Her eyes alight on the old guitar I’ve propped up against the wall. “You play?” she smiles in delight.

“Used to. When I had more time.” for lightness and laughter and songs and happiness, I didn’t add. She tucks the blanket around her, and scoots to the end of the bed. She reaches for the guitar and gives it to me.

“Play me something. Pleeeeaaassseee,” she begs adorably. “with me on top,” she motivates.

I smile and take the guitar from her, plucking the strings, and getting familiar with the once beloved companion of mine. The callouses on my fingers seem to remember what I thought I’ve forgotten long ago. My voice starts low and soft, almost a whisper -

 

_I found myself dreaming In silver and gold Like a scene from a movie That every broken heart knows_

_I woke up in tears With you by my side A breath of relief And I realized No, we're not promised tomorrow_

 

Ava is still and lovely in her concentration. She has a faraway look in her eyes, then her body starts swaying to the sad music. I continue playing the guitar, singing softly -

 

_So I'm gonna love you like I'm gonna lose you And I'm gonna hold you like I'm saying goodbye_

_Wherever we're standing I won't take you for granted 'Cause we'll never know when, when we'll run out of time_

 

Ava’s eyes are haunted, she looks up at me and joins me singing -

 

_Let's take our time to say what we want Here's what we got before it's all gone 'Cause no, we're not promised tomorrow_

_So I'm gonna love you like I'm gonna lose you I'm gonna hold you like I'm saying goodbye_

_Wherever we're standing I won't take you for granted 'Cause we'll never know when, when we'll run out of time_

 

Ava has tears in her eyes as I finish playing. Whatever this is between us, it feels heavy and important. I touch her face and gather her in my arms.  

 

 

 

 

We sleep tangled in each other’s arms. I wake her up in the middle of the night with my erection hard against her back. She lies on her stomach, my hands gripping her hips upwards until she’s on her hands and knees with her face pressed against the mattress. We make love in a frenzy, bucking against each other until we collapse, spent. Dappled sunlight wakes me up once again, Ava’s mouth on my cock. I have never come as much and as hard as I’ve done tonight, even during my teenage years when I was just discovering my raging libido. Afterwards, I cover our cooling bodies with a blanket, my head on Ava’s chest, her arms protecting me from the darkness of my nightmares. I fall in a deep, fathomless, blessedly dreamless sleep.

 

 

I’m sitting on the living room couch, sipping a cup of tea. I quietly got out of bed late this morning, trying not to wake Ava up. I know she’s exhausted and sore from our all night sexy marathon. I can’t believe how much I wanted her again this morning. My body acting as if I haven’t had her in months instead of just a few measly hours ago. I cover my smile with my cup, knowing that Damien is staring at me from the other side of the room, standing by the kitchen sink, smirking into his coffee, “You look like shit, buddy.”

I throw a pillow at his head.

 

 

I’m still enjoying my tea when I see Ava emerge from the bedroom, all adorably rumpled and sleepy. She’s wearing my t-shirt and I can see long, muscular legs underneath the hem, her nipples clearly showing through the white fabric. She rubs her breasts against Damien’s back, and reaches around him to cup his crotch. “Good morning, handsome,” she kisses his neck.

Damien almost drops his coffee cup, but instinctively reaches around and grabs Ava’s back, bunching her t-shirt up and successfully showing a peek of her ass. He turns around, arms still wrapped around Ava, recovers from his surprise, and says, “Well. Good morning to you too, beautiful.”

“Damien! Oh my god, Oh my god, I’m so so so sorry,” she stammers. “You’re the same height, the same build…” her cheeks are flaming.

This whole time, I sit frozen on the spot, my cup halfway to my lips. I hear Damien’s delighted chortle, his eyes roaming over Ava’s breasts, and I explode into action, walking/running towards them, my tea sloshing onto the hardwood floor. “Unhand my woman. Now.”

I grab Ava’s hand and try to move her next to me. She blinks up at me, and her body starts shaking. Her and Damien start laughing hysterically, holding their stomachs, doubled in pain, but still, they continue to laugh their damned heads off.

“I really fail to see the humor in this situation,” I pout. They laugh harder.

Ava puts her arms around me, “Oh baby, I’m so sorry. I will make it up to you.” Her eyes are filled with wicked promise.

I punch Damien’s shoulder. Hard.

“Awe, Mikey! That fuckin’ hurts!”

There. I feel better.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! We've reached the end of my story. Oh how I miss Stonebridge and Scott. What are your plans in getting over the end of Strike Back? I think I will purchase myself a face towel with the words "SS Forever" embossed on the corner, then eat a whole cheesecake while watching re-runs of their bromance.  
> Sweet dreams!

**Chapter 10**

 

**Helena, Montana. United States of America.**

Attending a party isn’t the kind of event that I had in mind for tonight. But since it has been planned and perfected in ruthless precision by Ava’s mother, she couldn’t get out of it. She extends an invitation to me, and I probably was in a delirious frame of mind after being out on mission in the jungles of Colombia, when I in turn, extend the invitation to Scott. 

 

\------------------

 

“Have you guys talked about being exclusive, yet, Mikey?” Damien asks.

 

“Mate, I think now is not the time to talk about affairs of the heart, yeah?” I say as I duck and cover my face from gunshots and grenades exploding around us.

 

“You have to put dibs on her before someone else does!” he insists. I can see his white teeth against his blackened face, blood dribbling down his eyebrow.

 

“Dibs? What’s dibs?” I ask in confusion. “Changing!” I yell as I throw my gun’s empty magazine to the ground, and jam a new one in its place.

 

“Ya know, brand her as yours! Like cattle. Put a damn “S” for “StoneHenge” on her ass so everyone will see that she’s taken.” He tells me patiently as if talking to a slow-witted child.

 

“We don’t need to do that, asshole.” I shake my head at his daft way of thinking. “See for yourself in Montana.” My left eye is blurry from all the blood trickling down from somewhere in the vicinity of my head. I wipe it with my sleeve, and take a deep breath, “Moving! Go! Go! Go!”

 

\-----------------------

That is why it’s my own damn fault that I’m now stuck in the middle of this flirtation between him and Scarlett – Ava’s mother. Ava’s mother! Does this wanker even have any line he will not cross? What am I thinking, it’s Damien Scott, for fuck’s sake. Of course he doesn’t. Given, Ava’s mum still looks young and beautiful, but still. She’s Ava’s mum! 

 

“I still think you’re pulling my leg.” I hear Scott purr in that voice he thinks is charming. “You must’ve had her when you were two!”

 

Scarlett tips her head back and laughs, exposing her long throat. Her eyes are the same wide, green depths as Ava’s. Same luxurious red hair, but where Ava is very petite, Scarlett is statuesque and towers over all the women in the room. 

“You’re a dear,” her voice is low and throaty. “A compliment from a big tall glass of water, a woman can only take so much,” she touches Scott’s arms. 

 

Jesus, I guess Scott’s voice _is_  working its charms. I can see Scott’s Cheshire cat grin. He looks at me and without words, manages to let me know that before the night is over, he will be taking Scarlett to his bed. Sometimes, I hate this weird brain-reading superpower that Damien and I have seemed to have developed. It has saved both our asses numerous times out in the field, but I do not need to see into his dirty thoughts right about now.

 

I try to drown out that image by taking a sip of my whiskey. I swirl it around my glass, which is made of heavy translucent glass in the shape of a skull. A black cloth napkin with an embossed letter “S” in pink thread complements the drink. Scarlett has gone all out for her birthday party. 

I scan the crowd for help out of this hellhole and laser in on Ava by the other side of the room. She’s wearing a red dress in a soft-looking jersey fabric, being held up by two skinny straps on her shoulders. The neckline is gathered into a low v that ends in a ruched gathering by her right hip, flowing all the way to the ground with a very high slit, where a slender leg peeks out when she moves. She has clipped a riot of white flowers by her right ear, and her hair hangs in soft curls over her left shoulder. Ava in a red dress. I swallow. 

 

She’s talking to a tall, muscular bloke near a profusion of flowers, and I notice they’re in a quite serious discussion about something. And… they are very close to each other. In fact, they are so close that he has no problems reaching his right hand over, and placing it on her lower back. 

 

My jaw twitches and I feel Scott’s eyes leave Scarlett’s for a second, to follow my line of sight. I hear him mutter, “Down, Mikey.” I continue to watch the scene unfurl before me, and in front of my very eyes, I see this twat’s hand slowly creeping down Ava’s ass. I hear Damien say, “Aw, shit,” a second before I plunk my skull glass down on the table to my right, and stalk to where Ava is standing, canoodling with another man. I know Scott is right behind me. 

I reach the adulterous pair, grab his paw in my right hand, press down on his thumb, and twist it mercilessly behind his back until he crumples down to his right knee, squealing like the pig he is. His ten gallon cowboy hat, just recently placed in a perfect rakish angle on his head, falls to the floor.

“Michael!” I hear Ava’s surprised screech. “What the hell are you doing?! Let him go!” I decide breaking this guy’s arm is probably warranted and start to twist his hand even higher up his back when Ava says, “He’s my cousin - my first cousin, you insufferable Neanderthal! Let him go!” 

 

I let his hand go and he whimpers in pain, clutching his hand by his chest, while looking up at me. “And I’m gay, you big brute.” He shrieks at me as he starts to stand up. 

I look at Ava, and her eyes are flaming mad. Something in her face reminds me of the first time we met when she socked me in the nose. I instinctively cover my nose with my hand, and take an involuntary step away from her. 

 

“You, you, you wanker!” she finally manages to spit out in her rage, and turns around to stalk out of the room. Probably too disgusted to look at me any longer. 

 

Mister Muscular Gay Cousin observes this exchange with his plucked eyebrows going so high up his blonde hairline, that they almost disappear from sight. He looks at me in pity, and touches my chest with his unhurt hand. “Once she beats you to a bloody pulp, come see me.”  One finger traces up my chest, to my neck, to my nose. “I’ll fix you up real nice” he pronounces it “naaahs” with a long, hot breath. I turn on my heel to follow Ava. I hear Scott slapping his thighs, laughing hysterically in the face of my misery.

   

 

 

I find her in one of the large rooms, pacing back and forth in front of a wall of books that reaches all the way to the ceiling. Mounted heads of bears and moose with giant antlers fill every nook and cranny of the leather-furnished room. Her body is tightly coiled, and trembles in tightly controlled anger. She spins around when she feels my presence and points a finger at me, 

 

“Do  _not_  touch me if you value your fingers,” she warns through gritted teeth when she sees my hand start to reach for her.

 

“I’m so sorry, Ava,” I start my groveling. “I don’t know what came over me,” I plead. “I saw his hand on you and I lost my damn mind.”

“I am not one of your missions, Michael. To conquer and own as you wish. I am fully capable of defending myself against any man. I do not need you to come rescue me in your fuckin’ white horse!” she’s mixing her metaphors, but my instinct for life preservation kicks in just in time not to mention this out loud. 

“I know, I know, baby,” I say in my most soothing voice. The same one I use to talk kidnappers out of letting their hostages go.

 

“Do  _not_ “baby” me, Michael.” She commands. 

“Of course, of course, baby, er, I mean… Ava.” I stammer. “It’s just… you looked so cozy and happy and I haven’t gotten my dibs on you yet and there have been no branding involved and I was afraid….”

 

“Dibs? What dibs? And I am not livestock you can brand!” her hands are raised in frustration. That fuckin’ Scott, I’m gonna kill him for putting those words in my vocabulary.

“I have had enough of this macho posturing. I’ve endured it all my life with my father and I am damned if I will tolerate it with you.” I approach slowly, as if I’m trying to subdue a nervous filly. 

 

“I’m sorry, Ava. I'm an idiot. You’re right, I’m a big, stupid Neanderthal.” 

 

Her back is to me when I finally reach her, and I tentatively place my hands around her. She lets me hold her, and I can feel her body finally start to lose its rigidity, her anger spent. “I’m a big fuck-up, I’m so sorry.” I whisper. She sniffles softly, and we stay like that, with me hugging her from behind, my forehead touching her hair, the flowers in her hair fragrant and sweet. 

 

“You’re not.” She finally deems to talk to me after a while. 

 

“Not what, baby?” I ask. 

 

“You’re not a stupid Neanderthal,” she concedes. I turn her around, and gather her in my arms. I start kissing her face, 

 

“Can I call you baby again?” I ask in my cutest voice. She grants me with a soft smile, 

 

“I guess, you big lug.” 

 

And there, in the dim library, with the smell of old books and sweet flowers, in the presence of stuffed animals, their button eyes as witnesses, I finally acknowledge what I’ve been denying to myself for months. With her generosity, and her vulnerable little feet, her terrible cooking, and her righteous right hook, I finally admit that I have fallen head over heels in love with this woman. I look at her in defeat, and mutter, 

“Fuck Me.”

 

And somewhere outside the wooden doors, I hear Damien guffaw like a hyena. 

 

THE END.


End file.
